


already somebody's

by portions_forfox



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Coda, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:39:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portions_forfox/pseuds/portions_forfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy forgets what she wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	already somebody's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/gifts).



> Written for [](http://a-phoenixdragon.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://a-phoenixdragon.livejournal.com/)**a_phoenixdragon** , who prompted " _The Doctor isn't dead, but he only shows up for that one Christmas and then he is gone again.  Amy doesn't want to be protected, she wants her Raggedy Doctor._ "  // A post-Christmas Special fic.

Sometimes Amy forgets.  Or she lets herself forget.  One of the two.  

She forgets than when she was seven she said she was going to see the stars.  _I'm going to hold them in the palm of my hand_ , little Amelia had said, and she'd made that promise in the dark, in the silence, on her own, _and watch them burn like candles, only brighter._

And when she was eight she said she'd be an alien queen in a gown of shimmering emeralds, reclining on a throne of gold.  When she wasn't tending to the many outer-space-related dangers that threatened her subjects, she'd go riding through forests on a ton-ton.

Amy forgets that when she was nine she was going to be an intergalactic Robin Hood who stole from the rich and pompous in their marble mansions on the fields of Palæchlia, to give to the poor in the barren deserts of Andoréii.  She'd be chased by the authorities in flying silver spaceships, but no one would ever outrun her, no one could.

At ten she was going to be an outer space Chief Constable, at eleven an astronaut, and at twelve an astrophysicist.

When she was thirteen she went to Mallorca and decided it wouldn't hurt to study scuba diving.

At fourteen she laid all her eggs in the "pop star" basket, at fifteen she was a shoe-in for supermodeling, and at sixteen a fashion columnist.

Amy forgets that when she turned seventeen she wore a smirk and told everyone she knew (aunt included) that she was going to be an exotic dancer, and she meant it.  At eighteen she figured the life of a high-class call girl wouldn't be so bad, like for footballers and politicians and that.

And when she was nineteen ... When she was nineteen it came full circle, yeah.

And Amy forgets -- she lets herself forget so often now -- that when she was twenty-one, she did.

 

 

 

 

She forgets other things, too.  Like sometimes?  When she's dreaming?  She'll see him standing there in the open door of the TARDIS, waiting for her even though he won't say it aloud, and she hears the words spill out her lips, can _feel_ herself say them: _I'm coming with you._

And when she wakes, sometimes she forgets she never said it, it never happened, and she opens her eyes and she's almost frightened. Her eyes search the room and she sees she's in a bedroom, a regular bedroom on Earth and not in a spaceship, and she sees her husband -- her _husband_ \-- curled up next to her and she feels something coiling in the pit of her stomach, something that feels like the flu or like her worst ever hangover, because -- because how can this be happening?  What is she doing here?  Where is she?

And then she remembers.  And forgets again.

 

 

 

 

He comes back at Christmas, eats dinner with them and acts like nothing has changed except that now _he eats Christmas dinner_  like a  _normal person_.  Amy wonders why he hates it so much ... He's almost _disgusted_ by it, by domesticity. She used to feel the same, sometimes worries that she still does.

As he says his goodbyes to Rory, Amy follows the Doctor down the hall, trailing behind him with a distant smile.

At the front door he leans one shoulder against the wall, crosses his arms and looks across at her pleasantly. He's lopsided. She mimics his stance so they're lopsided together. Not lopsided anymore.

The light in the hallway is soft, yellow -- hazy and calm enough almost for sleep, for dreams.  Everything about it is soft, blurred around the edges, like a -- like a halo.

"So," Amy says, because she knows he'll never start.  "I guess you'll be going now, then."

The Doctor's twilit smile fades a little. "Yes."

Amy clears her throat. "And I guess you'll be leaving me here," she goes on, "for my own ... _safety_." She tries to sound nonchalant, tries to make her voice match the numbness of the light, but she can't help the sliver of bitterness that slides into her voice, while shadows appear on the walls.

He frowns a little. "Well, yes," he says. "But I also ... I thought this was what you wanted." He gestures around, her house, her safety, her home. Rory.

Amy bites her lip, nods. It's not like seeing the stars. 

"I did too," she says.

 


End file.
